Maybe it's the way the land folds into the sea, or how the light hangs differently in the evening. Maybe it was moments with Megan, trying to avoid injury while navigating the basalt columns of Giant's Causeway. Exploring the Dunluce Castle, a taste of whiskey at Bushmills, and a good night's rest at the seemingly touristy yet absolutely perfect Titanic Hotel.
Whatever it was, Northern Ireland stays with me, and maybe Royal Portrush and the surrounding County Antrim most of all.
As the 153rd Open returns to Royal Portrush, my mind goes back to 2019. Shane Lowry, bearded, barrel chested, and beloved, lifted the Claret Jug in a downpour of joy and Guinness. Locals still talk about it like a fairytale. That win wasn’t just his, it was Ireland’s.
Portrush is more than a championship venue. It’s a memory that lingers. I still recall the smell of peat fires and the sound of fiddle music, the boiling hot soup at the turn house, the majestic redheaded pheasants and Calamity Corner. The locals carry a warmth and quiet pride in their sacred land. Life moves slower there, unhurried and in rhythm with the coast.
It’s hard not to fall for it all, completely.
Of course, I’ll be up before the sun to watch the drama and triumph this week. Personally I'll be pulling for Rory (and maybe Shane as well). But my hope for you, is that in the quieter moments, you catch a glimpse of what I saw: a place that humbles you, fills you up, and reminds you why we ever started chasing a ball around a field in the first place.
Far and Sure,
Akbar Chisti, Co-Founder, Seamus Golf